It begins with a strand of the wind;
sharpens your profile, adding a fine line
sparkles in your eyes
When it rises, we toss and turn
unwrapping the thin papers,
let it blow away.
There is something bigger going on,
in a quiet place, inside of us.
Before the rain starts
we stand on the edge of the river
as tuning forks, our rusting legs
slowly cease buzzing.
(Published in "Chronogram Magazine" in October 2014)